


Brother Love's Traveling Salvation Show

by likeadeuce



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-15
Updated: 2010-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-07 07:20:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeadeuce/pseuds/likeadeuce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mysterious goings-on in the desert bring Buffy and Connor together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brother Love's Traveling Salvation Show

They drove up from Albuquerque in the Buick that Lawrence Riley had given Connor the day he turned sixteen. "So does this car really exist?" Buffy asked. She sat in the passenger seat, one foot propped against the dashboard, knee curled into her chest, so she could inspect the glittering green toenail polish.

"You're really flexible," said Connor. Because it was the first thing that popped into his head, and because he had never been that great at talking to girls. At least, when he was Stephen, there had been the excuse of spending those formative years in a hell dimension with only a stern patriarch to socialize him. Now that he had the benefit of a pampered childhood with an affectionate mother and an energetic, occasionally exasperating sister, he had to face the fact that maybe he was just destined to suck at talking to girls.

Or maybe all twenty-one-year-old guys felt that way. It was hard to tell. Most of what he remembered about other boys must have been made-up, too.

"The car exists," he answered. "If you have a doubt about that, you can get out and walk." But he said it with a smile and Buffy gave a smile back.

"I wish there'd been more guys like you in the philosophy class I tried to take last term." She made a face. "Maybe I wouldn't have quit." Then she put down the window and hung her foot over the mirror.

Connor thought, _Hey, maybe I didn't suck that time._ And then he had to worry about whether Buffy counted as a "girl," or if he should just think of her as a Slayer, or a past potential stepmother, but that would involve trying to decide whether he thought of Angel as his father, and that was altogether too much thinking for today. He agreed to go along with this because he was curious to meet Buffy, and he kind of liked the idea of seeing Faith again. But also – though Angel hadn't said so -- Connor secretly thought it might involve a chance to kill something. Something not human of course; something that would fight back just enough to make it satisfying when the weapon found its way home.

He had taken the semester off from Stanford, was interning at the Maxwell Museum at the University of New Mexico. It was supposed to help him decide if he wanted to major in anthropology, if he could see a life cataloging the leftovers of civilizations that didn't exist anymore. Mostly, he spent his time wondering if objects were cursed, or haunted -- if that urn had ever imprisoned a dimension-jumping nemesis; if this inscription could be read the wrong way and used to tear a family apart.

As Connor was thinking, Buffy was rifling through her carryon bag, until she emerged triumphantly with a small box the size of a card deck. "Hold out your hand," she said, "And close your eyes." Then, considering that he was actually driving, corrected, "Or leave them open. Just don't look down. 'For you,'" she said, putting something into his hand. "Then 'How nice,' 'in style,' 'got love,' 'fax me' –"

"Fax you?" he repeated, and looked down into his hand. She had been giving him sugar conversation hearts, those little pastel things with trite expressions written on them.

You've had these before, right?" He had no idea, and his face showed it. She understood. "It's okay. We have manufactured memories in my family too." The next heart she placed in his hand was a strange shade of foam green. "LET IT BE the heart told him. He shoveled the whole handful into his mouth, and realized it was a mistake. He had tasted them before; they tasted disgusting, like sweet chalk. He chewed politely, anyway.

"It's Valentine's Day," said Buffy. "I didn't realize until I saw them in the airport. And that should tell you all you need to know about my life."

"I'm driving an hour into the desert with a woman I just met, to just maybe kill something, and I didn't realize it was Black Tuesday until you said so. That should tell you something about my life."

"Oh," Buffy looked embarrassed. "This is really just a reconnaissance mission. Giles was getting some weird readings on this preacher guy, and he wanted someone to check it out." For the first time, she looked really worried. "I hope Faith isn't counting on killing things."

*

"You really have to ask yourself," Faith mumbled, shifting her weight in the hard metal chair, "Who the hell would come out here on Valentine's Day to sit in a tent and listen to some freakshow reject talk about God?"

"_Sit still_!" scolded the woman in front of them. She raised a hand to adjust her flower-trimmed straw hat and pulled a small girl into her lap.

"You mean besides the three of us?" Connor crossed his arms behind his head and stretched out his long legs.

"_I don't want to sit still_," the girl whined. _"I want my puppy dog."_

"We're working," Faith said firmly. She leaned forward and looked past Connor, raising an eyebrow at Buffy, who was seated on his other side.

_"You can't have him,"_ the mother snapped. _"Your puppy dog's dead. Now listen while Brother Brantley explains the joy of God's love!"_

At this, the girl burst into howls, worthy of the dying dog itself. Which was just as well, considering that biting down on her own knuckle wasn't doing much to stifle Faith's laughter. The mother got to her feet, pulling the screaming child under one arm, and stormed into the darkness outside the tent.

"Think about it this way," said Buffy. "Instead of taking such a negative view, why not try asking in an entirely optimistic way: who _wouldn't_ want to be here tonight?"

"Hmm," Faith said. "That's a tough one." She put up her fingers and started counting. "Cool people. Young people. Attractive people. People with lives."

"Besides us?" Buffy and Connor said at once. She caught his eye and said, "Great minds." Connor felt a smile, and something like a blush.

It took Faith no time at all to bring him back to earth. "Yeah," she said, with no effort at sincerity. "That's what I meant." The choir moved into a new song, and Faith looked up and down the row mumbling, "Cool, young, attractive, unattached people, looking to get laid. That is, in fact, the true meaning of Valentine's Day. I figured this place would be crawling with them."

"Faith –" Buffy blinked at Connor, who shrugged, leaving her to tackle this one herself. "You are aware that this is basically a church, right?"

"Tell me something, B," Faith shot back, "Have you ever actually been to a church? I don't mean a creepy, haunted old cathedral where you had to kill something. I'm talking church where people go every Sunday to breathe in candle fumes be bored out of their skulls. What else do you think they do to keep from going crazy?" She crossed her arms and frowned. "Something is wrong here. The three of us should be up to our eyeballs with hotties trying to witness to us by now. Tell her, college boy."

Connor hesitated. "Most of my religious training is a little out of date but – Faith has a point. After me and Tracy broke up, this friend invited me to one of those Campus Christian Fellowships. When I mentioned I wasn't seeing anyone, the girls were lining up. It was like –"

"A meat market," Faith cut in. "For technical virgins." When the others both looked at her, she shrugged. "I grew up in a town with a few million college students. Had to do something for a challenge when the bar scene got boring."

"Uh huh." Buffy's mouth snapped shut and she looked at Connor. "So how's Angel?"

Connor fought the urge to smile at the abrupt change of subject. "Glad you called him about potential badness going down here. Sorry he couldn't make it himself."

"I understand." He could tell Buffy was trying to make light of the situation. "He has a bad history with Valentine's Day. And between having to drive out to the middle of nowhere in daylight hours, and all the crosses --"

"And the Neil Diamond tickets werewolf-girl scored for him," said Faith.

Buffy's jaw dropped. "We're here fighting boring evil and he's – wait a minute, Neil Diamond has to be more boring and evil than this. Wait, is Neil Diamond a demon? Because that would explain a lot."

"Angel really wanted to go," Connor assured her. "And you know, the new album doesn't suck. I sort of think it's a step up from Manilow."

"Why would Angel listen to Neil Diamond _or_ Barry Manilow?" Buffy asked. "I know he lived through the seventies, but he would have been more into -- I dunno. The Stones, Van Morrison, early U2."

"B," said Faith, "I think it's my duty as your – no longer mortal enemy to tell you –" She stopped speaking as her eyes caught something over Connor's shoulder. "I changed my mind, college boy. You can tell her." As the other two watched, Faith walked past them toward a tall, clean-cut guy in a shirt and tie.

"Excuse me." He spoke in a deep voice, with a soft southern accent. "But I saw you from across the room, and I was wondering if you have accepted the Lord as your personal savior?"

Faith reached a hand up to flick the hair off her shoulder and answered in a honeyed voice that sounded like Scarlett O'Hara. "Which Lord would that be exactly?" The boy's eyes widened, though it wasn't clear whether his reaction was caused by Faith's near-blasphemy or by the way her red blouse was slipping down her chest. Faith turned back to the other two. "Brother Riley? Sistah Summers? This might take a while. Do enjoy Brother Love's Traveling Salvation Show."

Together, she and the boy slipped into the throng. Buffy shook her head and looked at Connor. "Wow. I've missed her." She frowned. "What were you supposed to tell me?"

At that moment, the floodlights throughout the tent went down, and the music picked up – "Amazing Grace" played on a synthesizer, backed up by snare drum and sax – and spared Connor from having to disabuse Buffy of any notions she might have cherished about the musical hipness of her high school sweetheart.

Up front, a spotlight lit the podium, and a voice, not unlike those that occasionally came on the radio announcing monster truck shows on Sunday Sunday Sunday, proclaimed that everyone should, "Shout hallelujah for the Reverend D - B – Brantley!"

Connor wasn't sure what he had expected to see, but it wasn't this rather unremarkable man. He looked short and broad-shouldered, and wore a badly-fitted suit that seemed to pick up the colors of the footlights. His face sweated, and the hair that lay badly across the top of his head could not possibly have been his own. The Reverend D.B. Brantley was, at first glance, noteworthy only by being so ordinary. Yet the tent was packed. They were in the middle of the New Mexico desert, miles from anywhere, but somehow cars had poured in from miles around to see him. Maybe when he spoke, Connor would understand the appeal.

"Thank you, brothers and sisters." His voice, like the rest of him, turned out to be remarkably unremarkable. "Thank you for coming out again, making this the seventh night in a row of our _most_ successful revival in many years. The subject of tonight's sermon is love." At the mention of this word, Connor put his hand on Buffy's arm, squeezed it and nodded toward the end of the row. She nodded back and the two started to maneuver their way to the edge of the tent. "Our Lord himself has said –" Reverend Brantley continued. "There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. ."

The reverend continued with his text, and soon Buffy and Connor stood on the edge of the tent. She looked out over the darkened desert, at the star-filled sky. As a breeze hit her, she shivered and covered her arms. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Probably," said Connor. "I mean, I have a little experience with charismatic cult leaders who can brainwash masses into doing their will." Not that he had required any brainwashing himself, but that didn't seem like a subject for Valentine's Day.

"Yeah," said Buffy, "I've seen some cases of serious thrall myself. And when I listen to this guy and I look around at the people here, well it definitely seems a lot like –"

Together, Connor and Buffy said, "Church."

"Really big church," said Connor, "In a tent. But still–"

"Your basic standard church." She shook her head. "I don't get it. All these people out here, and Giles and Willow both said the mystical energy was off the charts. I just assumed it would be about the preacher."

Connor gave her a lopsided grin. "You've watched too much HBO."

"No," she said. "I've just met too many evil preachers. Well, one. Too many." She stepped out of the tent and looked around. "Listen, maybe we've got this all wrong. Her foot sunk into the sand. She knelt and grabbed a handful of earth between her fingers. "Maybe it's not the revival at all. Maybe it's where it is." She stood again, and looked back at him. "I've been to a place like this."

The breeze hit Connor as he stepped out of the tent. Of course, the desert was cold at night. He remembered Q'ortoth. Without giving it any more thought, he pulled off his jacket and handed it to Buffy. "No, I don't need. . . " She shivered. "Wow, this wind is loud, I can hardly hear –" They looked back at the same time. There was no longer any noise from the tent. There was no light. There was no tent.

"Damn," said Buffy. "I knew we should have taken a right at Albuquerque."

*

There was no tent. There were no cars. There was one very large full moon, and a tall, dead-looking tree rearing up in its light. They could see miles around them, nothing but the black tree, and white sand.

Connor and Buffy both straightened and moved, instinctively, so their backs were to each other. Connor had a knife on his belt. He bet Buffy had a stake under her jacket. Still, he didn't know where they were, or what they might be facing. "You said you'd been to a place like this?" Connor asked. They weren't in Q'ortoth, he told himself. No place in Q'ortoth was this flat, this open. That was the hell of it, growing up there. You got to know what could be lurking out there, but you never learned to see it coming.

"I've been," said Buffy. "Talked with a girl who was never really there, about things that might have never happened." She started to turn, getting a view of the perimeter.

Connor rotated with her. "Did Faith come out of the tent?"

"Probably," Buffy answered. "I can't see even her humping some guy in church. Does that mean she's in the same place as we are? Who knows?"

She pulled Connor's coat around her shoulders, and just then an animal's high-pitched cry floated toward them.

A slight tremor came into Buffy's voice. "Coyote?"

Connor frowned, mentally flipping through a catalog of animal calls, from two different dimensions. "No, I think –" He brushed the hair from his eyes and gave Buffy a look. "You're a vampire slayer, and you're afraid of a coyote?"

"I knew a vengeance demon who was afraid of bunnies," Buffy shot back. "And no," she said, a little petulance in her voice. "I'm not afraid. They're just ugly."

"You probably wouldn't see him before him ate you."

"Ate me?"

"Well, not unless you provoked him." Connor tried to look casual as he dropped to his knees, checking the ground for signs of animal tracks.

"Provoke him, like what? Send him a box from Acme that explodes in his face?"

"It probably wouldn't even have to explode. Just looking at the word 'Acme' probably gives him PTSD." Why Cyvus Vail had decided Connor needed an exhaustive knowledge of Looney Tunes, or the symptoms of post-traumatic stress, Connor wasn't sure. Maybe it had something to do with keeping up with Slayers.

The animal cry sounded closer again and Connor pointed to the tree. "Listen, stay here. I'll look around."

"Oh yes, let's split up," she said. "That's always a good plan."

"You've got something better?"

"That way!" she said, and suddenly she had split off in the direction of the noise.

"Buffy!" he gasped, and uncharacteristically found himself panting to catch up. _Right. Slayer._

He lost sight of Buffy for a moment, then almost tripped over her, crouched down in the sand. She reached up to grab his arm; he skidded and saw, in front of them, two creatures locked together. One was, indeed, a furry animal with pointed ears and a sharp snout. The yelp they had heard before sounded again, but now it mixed with the sounds of the two-legged creature rolling underneath it. Cries that, now that they were close, unmistakably rang with laughter.

Buffy blinked and looked at Connor. "Is that – ?"

"I think so."

In the middle of the night, in the middle of the desert, in an apparently unpopulated dimension, Buffy and Connor stared at a young girl, shimmering in the moonlight as she joyfully romped with an energetic puppy.

Buffy stood and walked toward them, holding out her hand. "Hey, don't scare –" Connor began. Then he stopped, as Buffy walked right past the girl. Or, rather, right through her. Buffy stood, clear and solid, as the ghostly figures ran back and forth, seeming to inhabit the same space. "She was in the tent," Buffy said, moving back toward Connor, and leaving the insubstantial figures to their undisturbed play. "Remember? She said all she wanted was her dog. And her mom said it was dead."

"Then Faith," Connor remembered. "She wanted some cute boy to show up and –"

"Speak of the devil." Buffy nodded and moved toward him. Once again, they stood back to back, looking at the perimeter. Only, this time, as if their eyes had adjusted to a dim light, they could see phantasmic figures on every side. Back toward the tree, a couple embraced. Further down where the tent should have been, a man swung a child onto his shoulders. Across the field, a boy ran long for a football pass, jumped up and did a victory dance as he caught it. All around, voices rose in laughter as figures ran around and over and through each other.

Connor looked at Buffy. "This is bad."

"This has to be," Buffy agreed. "This is what they come out here for. Nothing to do with the sermon. It's just an excuse to lure innocent people out to the desert and. . ." She frowned. "Grant their wishes?"

"There has to be a catch."

"There's always a catch." Connor's hand went to his knife. "There must be a way to stop this."

Buffy unlatched a stake from her belt. "I'm right there with you."

"If we can find the source –" said Connor.

At once, both of them looked at the tree. "I saw something like that in my dream," said Buffy.

"A connection to the earth," said Connor, as the anthropology student's instincts kicked in. "The most likely totem object."

This time he led the way, and Buffy bounded to keep up. He stumbled into the trunk, braced his hand against it, and a jolt of energy ran up his arm to his shoulder. "This has to be it."

Buffy came up beside him and touched one hand to his shoulder, the other to the bark of the tree. The current running through Connor's body seemed to double. Their eyes met, and suddenly they both began to laugh – tiny gasps at first, then uncontrollable fits. Connor let the mood seize him, for a moment, then jerked away. His hand went to the knife at his belt. He raised his arm, ready to drive the blade into the trunk. Whatever this was, it was taking control of him, and that couldn't be good. But before he struck the knife to the wood, he looked at Buffy. Not asking for her approval so much as checking to see that they were still in accord, as they had seemed to be so often tonight. She started to nod, when a voice came from behind them.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. Not unless you plan for all of us to stay here, for a very long time."

A woman stood before them, half-hidden in the shadow of the tree. Connor caught flashes of bright lipstick, white teeth, tailored clothes and expensive boots.

"Buffy the Vampire Slayer," she purred in a silk-smooth voice. "Hearing your name all these years? I thought you'd be taller."

"And I thought," said Connor, making a connection from what truly seemed like another life. "I thought Wesley cut your head off."

A moment's long silence hung between them. At least, that seemed to be the woman's intention. It might have had the desired effect, had Buffy not blurted, "_Wesley_ cut somebody's head off? Watcher Wesley?"

"Well," said Connor. "She was dead already. Which makes it a little unlikely --"

Then Connor stopped, because the woman stepped out of the shadows, and she very clearly wasn't Lilah Morgan. "Very unlikely," she said. "What, you think every bitch in Prada looks alike?" Looking from Connor to Buffy, and back to Connor, she said, "It happens I've been around much longer than Lilah. Or Prada. My name is Eve."

"As in Adam and?" asked Buffy.

"As in Wolfram and. Well – formerly. I'm exploring my career options, at the moment. This is a freelance job."

"So just on your own," said Connor, "You decided to lure all these innocent people out into the desert and – "

"Show them the time of their lives? How could I ever be so cruel?"

"Are you calling this a good deed?" Buffy demanded. "A little Valentine's Day surprise?"

Eve shrugged. "If you like. Now I'm not saying there's nothing in it for me." She raised her hand to show a large pendant, clear crystal mounted in a gold setting. "This was my Valentine's Day present, a few years ago. A friend of mine, he dabbled in crystals." Connor noticed Buffy start at that suggestion. Eve swung the crystal on its chain. "Don't worry," she said. "This one won't burn anyone, or bring them back to life either. This one only collects."

"Collects?" Buffy repeated.

"Energy. Laughter. Hopes. Dreams." She shrugged. "You name it. The tree is a focal point. Boring Brother Brantley over there." Eve nodded toward where the tent should have been. "Stumbled on it a few years ago, when his car broke down. He thought he saw an angel."

Connor nodded, understanding slowly dawning. "Because he wanted to see an angel."

"Good thinking, college boy," Eve approved. "Now he holds a revival out here every year and, despite his astounding lack of charisma – well, the tree does the work for him. Word gets around. People want to come, share the joy. This year, my necklace and I decided to check it out.

"So all we have to do," said Buffy, "Is destroy the crystal that holds the power center."

"Or the tree," Connor said, "That caused all the trouble in the first place."

Eve whipped the crystal behind her back and stepped away from them. "Whoa, there, Butch and Sundance. How about we not go in with all guns blazing. Who said anything about destroying? Like I was trying to warn you. If you do anything to that tree, we're all stuck here."

"And if we don't?" Buffy asked.

"Then everybody wakes up tomorrow feeling a little lost, and very refreshed." She swung the crystal again. "And I walk off with a few thousand souls' worth of dreams. It's what we in the business world call win-win."

"But. . ." said Connor. "It's magic. There's always a downside."

"There's always a price," Buffy agreed.

"And who'd you learn that from? Some uptight Englishmen with no sense of fun? A broody vampire who hasn't exactly explored the power of positive thinking?"

Connor started to sheathe his knife, then frowned. "How do we know you're telling the truth?"

Eve began walking backwards, and already her form was fading in the moonlight. "Wait until morning. Find out if you get what you wish for."

And once again the two of them were alone.

"Hmm," said Connor.

"Huh," said Buffy.

They both crossed their legs and sank into the sand under the tree.

"Is there some kind of slayers' verson of the Hippocratic oath?" Connor wondered.

"First do no harm," Buffy mused. "If we hurt this tree, and Eve turns out to be right, we'll do a lot more damage than if we wait it out."

"Yeah," said Connor. "So maybe we just stay here tonight and see if we get what we wished for."

"Right," said Buffy. "So what did you --?"

"I started out today wanting to kill something," Connor admitted. "A thing," he said quickly, "Not a person. What about you?"

"That little girl wanted to see her puppy," said Buffy. "And I can think of plenty of people I'd like to talk to if I could. For real but – well, between the First Slayer and the First Evil, and all my prophetic dreams? I've kind of been there."

"So maybe that's what you want." When Buffy looked confused, he said, "Maybe you want to spend a night under the stars without having to talk to anybody who isn't really here. I mean --" He nodded in the direction where Eve had disappeared. "Anyone else."

Buffy broke into a smile. "You're good at this." Then she stretched out her sandal-clad feet and placed the green-painted toes in his lap. "Talk to me some more."

Then Connor remembered what he had been wishing for that morning. Maybe, alone under the stars in the middle of the desert, Connor Riley could figure out how to talk to a girl.

*

"So," Eve mused, smoothing out her skirt to kneel in the soft sand. "Do you think they'll remember this in the morning?"

Her companion poured red wine into a crystal glass and handed it to her. "I don't know," he said, "Will you?"

"Will you?" she pouted. And leaning up against his solid body, she brushed his chin with her lips.

"I won't remember anything," the man reminded her. "I'm just an exceptionally powerful manifestation of your unconscious desire."

"Will you stop being a lawyer for once?" Eve demanded, "And just play along?" She pulled out the pendant and gripped it in her palm, feeling the energy pulse through her. "Do you know how many dreams-come-true it takes to get this magic to work, even for one night?"

"Sorry. I'll stop wasting my nonexistent breath." Lindsey raised his glass and clicked it against hers. "Happy Valentine's Day," he said.

"You too." And as the moon rose over the desert, Eve placed a soft kiss on the lips of a man who wasn't there.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [wishes in my heart (like grains of sand)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/637903) by [Teaotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teaotter/pseuds/Teaotter)




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